


This is BS!

by JM_Hoover



Category: TRUMP - D2
Genre: Gen, Satire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 12:38:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JM_Hoover/pseuds/JM_Hoover
Summary: This is a fictional story about the Bible Belt drops out of the the U.S. to go ahead and run their own country. And how Donald Trump stops them.





	This is BS!

‘Dear friends, please be welcome. Thank you all for coming out again on this fine Sunday morning.’ Abe Canton always started his sermon with these words. And, as always, it was greeted with an applause and a loud ‘Amen’ from his congregation. To them, it seems like just an ordinary Sunday morning, he thought to himself, looking down from his pulpit.  
They don’t know what I know, though.  
‘But before we get started, I’m gonna start off with some bad news. Very bad news.’ Canton saw the faces in the crowd go from smiling to startled or even scared. ‘Now, now,’ he continued. ‘Don’t you worry about me now. I’m fine. I know, I suffered from a cold this week, but I’m okay now. I’ll do a cartwheel if you don’t believe me.’  
The crowd cheered and laughed when it actually looked like he was about to do a cartwheel. Not a small feat for a man his age. And size. And health. Not as if he could’ve done it thirty years — and 170 pounds less — ago, but then we’re just nitpicking really.  
Just turned 63, he started to look more like his dad every single day. A short, stocky man with skinny legs and a huge belly hanging over his belt. A belt which was doing everything in its power to keep his pants from dropping to the floor while supporting said belly and keeping it all in place. He wore his thick and lustrous hair with pride. Every morning, he spent a lot of time to style his hair. You don’t just wake up with the exact same hair style as 80’s Conway Twitty. It takes time. And a good hair dye, in his case. But when you’re done (hopefully) everyone will be in awe of your hair and won’t notice your huge waist line and skinny legs.  
No matter the weather, he always wore a suit and tie. He pretty much walked around, looking like an extra in a movie about slavery; one of those remorseful plantation owners who ends up marrying a hot slave girl. He made sure no one was ever going to see his unpleasantly white legs. Plus, it was a great way to hide most of his liver spots. Only two were visible, both on the right side of his face, perfectly in line with his nostrils. The liver spots couldn’t hide the fact he looked like what would’ve happened when Archie and Edith Bunker actually had a son together.  
He always blamed the southern hospitality for his weight gain over the years. And he wasn’t wrong. Before they moved from Illinois to Mississippi, where he got a job as pastor at a Southern Baptist church, he always had an average looking body. At least, that’s what his wife Sarah used to tell him to his own chagrin. Especially right after a grateful female member of his congregation brought them a homemade pie.  
After his wife Sarah died at age 47, he decided to stay in Mississippi. Both their parents were dead and they didn’t have any children. And by then, he had become the pastor at the biggest church in Jackson, Mississippi. So he saw no reason to leave. A meaningful job, good food, nice people.  
Her passing away was hard. Still, even after all these years. But he found solace in the Bible. And the occasional inviting bosom of a willing member of his congregation. That, and bourbon. Lots of bourbon. He believed in God, not second marriages. So he never gave love another try. Sometimes, he joked about how he should’ve been a Mormon pastor. The impact of losing a wife is way smaller when you have more wives to deal with. Too bad his body couldn’t stand the dry heat in Utah. The thought of having to listen to more than one nagging wife, didn’t help either.  
However, losing his wife did help him focus on what’s really important. What he felt he was truly born to do. The reason why God put him on earth. Sure, being a pastor was a nice and respectable job. Rewarding too (I told you about the willing members of his congregation, remember?). But it was never his intention to keep that job till retirement. Or, rather, an early death.  
No, he always wanted to tell more than just his congregation how to live their lives. He wanted to tell a whole nation. And now was the time to strike.  
He was ready years ago. And now, finally, America was ready too. He found the perfect triggers he could use. These triggers would help him become president. No, he wasn’t going to run for president of the Unites States. He had a much easier and faster way to become president in mind. No lengthy campaign, no uncertainty of possibly losing out to an opponent, no obstructions from the opposition. No, he thought of a far more effective way of becoming president. In-spired by an event a week earlier.  
On Saturday, January 2, 2016, a bunch of militant ‘patriots’ occupied the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in Oregon. They were protesting control and use of federal land. Of course, they were under close surveillance. But not attacked. And an attack didn’t seem to happen anytime soon. No, possibly thanks to Oregon’s Wild West roots, a standoff seemed more fitting. Lord knows they’d been waiting long enough for one. Plus, the occupiers weren’t black, that helped too. A lot.  
It supported a hunch he always had. If you’re white and act patriotic, you can get away with a lot of shit. And now he knew he’d been right all along. It was time to act likewise. And not with some dumb front to improve the lives of trees and animals. No, he was going to use it for his own good. Okay, and for his people. He needed them for this. Being a country is no fun on your own.  
The other trigger was less obvious. But in no way inferior. At the end of the year, America was going to pick their next president. To Canton, Hillary Clinton had it in the bag. Her pompous, elitist, uptight, way too expensive designer hand bag, that her shitty husband probably bought for one of his mistresses. It’s safe to say, he wasn’t a fan. As were a lot of others. Which meant, the Republican candidate still had a fighting chance.  
But Canton wasn’t convinced. He felt the two favorite candidates, Ted Cruz and Jeb Bush, were too weak to compete. And nobody really wanted those guys in the White House. Rubio? Please. And Ben Carson always seemed to already have quit the race, dozing off during one of his speeches or interviews.  
And what about Donald Trump, the dark horse in the race, you ask? Canton was convinced he was going to lose out or quit at some point. Probably very soon. Perhaps when they tell him a president’s salary. And that it also means he has to quit his current positions. And it means he has to live in the White House (without being allowed to put his name in gold on top of it).  
By using both triggers, he knew he would have enough ammo to not only convince his congregation, but hopefully also the rest of the Bible Belt. Like most of his sermons, this one would be uploaded to YouTube. And this time, his sermon was sure to go viral.  
A sermon about oppression. And the similarities between his people and the Jews (and him and Moses, of course). Not that he liked Jews , but their story — just like those idiots in Oregon (‘Please pray for those brave patriots in Oregon’) — simply helped his cause. And just like Moses, he wanted to lead his people away from oppression. And lead them towards a better place.  
As he was preparing his sermon, he kept going back to the final sentence of Exodus 9, verse 1: ‘Let my people go, so that they may worship me.’ 

* * * 

‘Well, men, I thank y’all for coming on such short notice. Really appreciate it.’ Canton looked around and saw a dozen of other pastors from the Southern Baptist Convention in his office. All high ranked pastors, from influential areas in the Bible Belt. More than half of them invited themselves. Three felt they actually initiated the get-together. Canton was wise enough to let them think they did. As long as it got them in his office.  
‘How was everyone’s trip? Ted, I heard you had quite a bit of turbulence on your flight?’  
Ted Edwards (Never call him Ed Tedwards!), a pastor from St. Louis, Missouri made his first plane ride in years, just to be a part of this moment. ‘Well, let’s just say, I was glad I brought an extra pair of underwear.’  
He closed his eyes and seemed to relive the flight again. ‘As a young boy, I always loved the idea of flying. We couldn’t afford it, of course, so I was oblivious to stuff like turbulence. But just the thought of being above the clouds — a place I imagined heaven would be — was mesmerizing. Until I took my first flight. I prayed the whole time. And I’ve been praying ever since. It’s terrible. But I wouldn’t wanna miss this. So, thanks for the invite. You made quite the clip, Abe. Great clip.’  
‘Thanks. I liked it too.’ Everybody laughed. Feeling a bit frightened and curious about what was about to happen.  
‘Are you in contact with those guys in Oregon?’ one asked.  
‘Why would I? I couldn’t care less about those guys. I hope they’ll receive fair punishment. I’m just glad I was able to use them as an example. That’s all.’  
No one was really surprised by his answer.  
‘But enough with the chit chat. Let’s talk business.’ Canton looked them all in the eye. ‘The business of running a country.’  
‘Think about it. The Jews have Israel. Buddhists have Tibet. Those Muslims have their Islamic State now. But Christians? Huh? What do we have?’ He looked them all in the eye again. ‘Well, now we’re gonna have our own state too. The Bible State! BS.’  
They all looked bewildered.  
Admirably, one pastor brought up Vatican City. Not that it garnered a reaction. But still. It was mentioned.  
‘Well, Abe,’ Dwayne Scott, an outspoken and heavily beloved pastor from New Orleans, Louisiana was the first one to speak out loud. ‘Why not CS? You know, Christian State?’  
‘Good question, Dwayne. Good question.’ Canton didn’t actually seem impressed. ‘Of course it has crossed my mind. But I’m afraid it just sounds a little too much like Christian Slater. And I figured, if Hollywood doesn’t want to be associated with him anymore, why should we?’  
In a strange way, he actually kind of makes sense. ‘But you think BS sounds any better?’  
‘What’s wrong with BS?’  
‘Well, it’s B. S.’ Isaiah McClane, a pastor from Chattanooga, Tennessee chimed in. Trying to let the eureka moment happen for Canton.  
He was oblivious to the hand reached out to him. ‘Yes, BS. The Bible State. You’re getting it, Isaiah!’  
‘No, I’m not. It’s BS. The acronym of...’  
‘Acrowhatnow?’  
‘He said acronym,’ Wayne Micheals mumbled in his low and slow voice. He was by far the oldest pastor in the room. A highly conservative pastor from Birmingham, Alabama. Loved by his congregation, hated by — pretty much — the rest. It shouldn’t need an explanation that the other pastors in the room were not a part of his congregation. The only reason they invited him, is because they equally fear and respect the man. And hate. They also hate the man. But, as everyone realized, their plan wasn’t going to work without his cooperation.  
‘A common mistake. But technically, he meant to say it’s an initialism.’  
‘Aaah, well thank you kindly, Wayne.’ Canton looked like he — finally — had his eureka moment. ‘Bible Servants.’  
They were wrong.  
‘No.’  
‘Bible Society?’  
‘No.’  
‘Bible Sisters? Weren’t they those cute seventies gospel singers from Mobile, Alabama?’  
A long and frustrated sigh later. ‘No, Abe! BS! B…! S…! That stands for bullshit!’  
‘No it doesn’t.’ Now it was Canton’s time to get aggravated. ‘It's Bible State, goddammit!’  
It was time for the rest to look bewildered, again.  
‘I know BO stands for body odor. Does that help?’  
‘We’re not really getting anywhere here,’ Michaels finally opened up the conversation after an uncomfortably long silence. ‘It looks like we have a state to run. Let us pray.’ 

* * * 

He woke up way too early for a Sunday morning. But boy, was he in a good mood. Canton had been dreaming about this day for as long as he could remember. And finally, his finest day had arrived.  
He jumped out of bed. At least, that’s how it felt to him. In actuality, it looked more like a rhino getting back on its feet after a huge dose of anesthesia after surgery. It’s all about perception, basically. He grabbed his phone from his bedside table and saw a huge list of missed calls, text messages and voicemails. He greeted them all with a big smile, as he scrolled through them. He read messages like ‘Everything’s a go’, ‘there are Military Police cars patrolling through the city’ and ‘How about that one scene on SNL last night?’.  
He rehearsed his sermon while he was preparing his breakfast. The same routine every Sunday. But today, he felt like the regular breakfast didn’t cut it. No, today asked for a special breakfast. His sermon was out of the ordinary too. His dangerously high cholesterol was the least of his concerns today. After today, his doctor was probably going to be too scared to address it anyway. He knew he was going to like his new, privileged life. Sure, being a white male from the south (a Southern Baptist pastor, nonetheless), he already lived a privileged life. But president trumps pastor. Big time.  
After breakfast he called a few people to get the latest news. Every pastor gave a green light for the operation. Everything was good to go. He put on his best suit, baptized himself in Old Spice and left. Knowing he’d return as a president of the Bible State. His finest day indeed.  
As he approached the church, he could see the huge amount of cable news vans, Military Police cars and people behind barricades. Whether they were there to cheer for him, or shout at him, he really didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were there. It meant he was important enough to come to his church to see what was going to happen. And he knew, he wasn’t going to disappoint them. He was going to give them their money’s worth.  
This was what he wanted. What he had been discussing all week. And dreaming about for years. He greeted the Military Police officers with a great smile before they checked his car, waved to everybody behind the barricades and pulled up to the driveway of the church. He parked his car in his spot, took a deep breath, checked to see if he had pieces of breakfast stuck in a gap between his teeth and got out of the car.  
He was greeted loudly, with both boos and applause. At the door of the church, he turned one last time and gave the spectators a final wave. He continued waving a bit too long, but in his mind he had created the perfect photo op. He was right. That scene would be seen all over the world the next couple of days.  
‘Welcome back. You’re still watching Channel Fourteen News. For our latest story, let’s go to Jackson, Mississippi.’ Nolan Baxter loved his job as news anchor. Ever since he saw Walter Cronkite on television as a little boy, he knew he wanted to be that guy. And now, he was that guy. Well, let’s just say, he was a news anchor. He had a similar moustache, though. And even though he denies it, everyone knows he adopted a lame catch phrase — ‘Thus ends the story of this day’ — after watching the film Bruce Almighty. but that’s really where the comparison stops.  
‘This week, the video of a sermon of Southern Baptist pastor Abe Canton from Jackson, Mississippi went viral. In his sermon, he had some choice words for not just his congregation, but for the whole country, basically. It was widely discussed all week. Everyone who mattered has voiced his opinion. Everyone, except pastor Canton himself. He remained silent all throughout the week. Which only sparked more interest in today’s sermon, today’s gathering. It’s pretty busy out there, a lot of protesters, but also supporters came to his church. To what seems to be a big Sunday for him. And us.’  
‘On the scene for us, is reporter John Fulton. John, can you give us an update as to what happened so far?’  
‘Sure I can, Nolan,’ Fulton replied with conviction. A young Geraldo in the flesh. Minus the moustache this time, thank God. He didn’t really have an update. But this was going to be his day. His big break. And he wasn’t going to let an item about some local fair or the birth of a dozen geese at a petting zoo get in the way. No, he was going to sell this one hard. Hard.  
‘Pastor Canton just arrived at the church. And, of course, we caught that on tape. Let’s watch the footage.’ The viewers were now treated on some footage of a man driving his car up to a church and parking his car. And after getting out, he waved and walked into the church. But Fulton’s play-by-play was as excited as an announcer during double overtime. He was selling it hard. Hard.  
And he wasn’t going to quit anytime soon. So he kept rambling on. Making sure his colleagues weren’t getting any time to interrupt his moment of glory. This was why he left his local news anchor job and slept with half a dozen of female executives to get where he was today. In Mississippi. But, unlike these female executives, he was loving every minute of it. ‘The protesters are from all over the country. And, funny enough, so are his supporters.’  
How big is the crowd, John?’  
‘Oh, it’s huge out here. Hundreds of fans and protesters are behind me, behind the barricades.’  
‘Alright, so too big of a crowd so everyone can get a seat. Well, I guess the protesters won’t get a seat, huh?’ Baxter chuckled loudly. Too loudly.  
‘Well no, Nolan. Only listed members of the congregation are allowed in. And, allegedly, it’s still ram packed. And who could blame ’em? Everybody wants a seat in that church.’  
‘Did you get a change to ask one of his members of congregation about how they feel?’  
‘There really was no time or place for that, I’m afraid, Nolan. There are a lot of Military Police out here, and they keep us away from the church. ’ But he wasn’t going to let that stop his segment from airing.  
‘I could see them from a distance. And they looked pretty afraid going in. Which isn’t weird, considering all the cameras, the Military Police and protesters around. It’s a pretty intimidating scene over here.’  
Leaving no room for Baxter to end this segment, he quickly continued. ‘But I interviewed a few people from behind the barricades, let’s watch a clip of that.’  
The viewers were now treated to some small talk with protesters and supporters. Both sides copied opinions they heard or read. But old news is still news, technically. His last interview was the best part, by far. A teenager who lived a couple of blocks from the church and stopped to see what was going on, when he saw a huge crowd on his way to a friend’s house. He had no clue what was going on.  
‘Have you seen that viral video from pastor Canton?’  
‘No, I don’t think so. Does he trip and hurt his head on the pulpit? Cause in that case, I probably did see it.’  
‘No. The video where a pastor calls Obama the devil.’  
‘Right. So Jesus was white, but the devil is black. Figures...’  
‘He didn’t stop there,’ Fulton continued. ‘He goes in. He calls the rest of the Unites States hell. And the crowd loves it. He gets a standing ovation. You sure you didn’t see it?’  
‘Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry. I had a pretty busy week. That math test on Thursday was crazy!’  
’You should definitely watch it some time. It’s on YouTube.’  
‘Alright, I will.’ The kid didn’t look like he was going to. ‘Are the comments disabled?’  
Fulton looked puzzled by his question. ‘Um, no. No, they’re not. There are a lot of comments, actually.’  
‘It’s decided. I’ll watch the video.’ Finally, somebody was getting as excited as Fulton. ‘The comments are always the best part of the video.’  
Back in the studio, they soon grew tired of his non-news and moved on to the next topic. But so far, Fulton was happy with his air time. And his decision last night to get a tan really paid off. He looked great today. His mom agreed, according to her text. Right when he was about to text her back, he got the cue there was ‘a development’ and he would go live in 10 seconds. He had no clue. But he was ready. At least, that’s what he thought.  
He was wrong.  
‘Thanks for the amazing report on those geese, Bianca. What a bunch of adorable animals. And the owners are nice people. Great job. Thank you, Bianca.’ Baxter couldn’t wait to rush into the next segment. Based on the hectic scene behind the cameras, it was huge.  
The teleprompter starting rolling. ‘We’re going back to John in Jackson, Mississippi. Breaking news. News has just come in that pastor Canton’s sermon — the sermon he just delivered inside the church where John is standing right now — has just been uploaded to YouTube. And it’s pretty shocking stuff. We’re just gonna play a piece of the sermon. Please stay with us, John.’  
‘Dear friends. I have something important to discuss.’  
This part of the sermon was what he’d been waiting for for many years. Writing it came easy. He was speaking from the heart. This was his strong suit. He was in the zone. Ready to deliver his best sermon ever. And even though he was speaking to millions of people, everyone who was watching, felt like he was talking directly to them. This is how he won over crowds. A wink here, a gesture there.  
‘You are living in the hell you have created for yourself. Don’t you want to live in total happiness? For the rest of your live?’ The congregation loudly agreed.  
‘A lot of people came up to me and thanked me for my support of those patriots in Oregon. I told all of them to keep them in their prayers. Cause, do we want the government to arrest or kill those Bundy’s? No ma'am. They’re fighting for what they believe is right. Like true patriots. God fearing Americans. The best kind. But Washington doesn’t want to see that. No. They are trying to tell us these patriots are wrong. Why? I swear, this country turned left after Bush senior and lost directions after it. Well, today, I’m lending a helping hand. I will steer my people in the right direction. Just like Moses did his Jews.’ He took a moment for dramatic purposes.  
‘But then I ask you, since when is standing up for what you believe in a bad thing? Heck, I got the answer right here for ya.’ He shouts ‘never’ In between long pauses. The people cheered. He was glowing, knowing now was the time to move.  
‘And what do we believe in?’  
With one — very loud — voice, the entire congregation shouted ‘God’ followed by an even louder ‘Amen’ by Canton.  
‘It’s time folks. Time to stand up for what we believe in. Now who’s with me?’  
The few who weren’t standing at this point, also got up. Even miss Elkwood, the oldest lady in church stood up from her front row seat and started pumping her cane in the air, like she was at a dance party and the DJ just dropped the beat. The rest of the church made as much noise as a dance party at that moment.  
Now It was his time to step away from the pulpit.  
‘Say it with me. This...’  
His congregation shouted back. ‘This!’  
‘Is...’  
‘Is!’  
‘Bible…’  
‘Bible!’  
‘State…’  
‘State!’  
‘This is BS!’  
At the moment, the apparent Bible State flag dropped down from the ceiling and dangled behind the pulpit. The congregation cheered. Canton was ecstatic. At that moment he felt like a rock star. Closely resembling Freddie Mercury’s vocal improvisation with the crowd at Queen’s iconic Live Aid performance. In his mind, at least.  
‘Now, let us pray and pledge allegiance to the flag of BS. Our flag. Then we’ll sing some songs while the collection plates are handed out. Give big, people. Lord knows we can use it. God bless you. And may God bless the great Bible State.’  
Fulton looked like a deer caught in the headlights.  
‘Wow. Just wow’, Baxter started the conversation. Sort of. ‘I did not see that one coming. This is big. Big. What are your thoughts on this, John?’  
Fulton’s face didn’t blink the whole time. ‘I, I… no idea what I just saw, Nolan.’ He looked around, the church doors were still closed. He had nothing to say.  
Baxter thought it’d be best to save time, so that everyone could get their composure back. ‘Alright, let’s look at the footage again.’  
No one saw this coming. They were just as stunned as Fulton. But luckily for them, they didn’t have a camera pointed at them. As the viewers back home were re-watching the sermon, the church doors opened. Everybody walked straight to their cars, there was no possibility for an interview of some sort.  
‘Back to you, John. I gather the church is empty. The congregation left. Pastor Canton, they all left. Is that right?’  
‘You got that right, Nolan. They’re all gone. It’s eerily silent here. Something huge definitely happened in there. They changed. They looked different walking out of that church. No longer afraid. Determined. Ready for whatever might be coming. I tried to ask one man how it was, while he passed me by in his car. He just looked at me and gave me a big grin. I’ll be honest with you, I did not care for his grin, Nolan.’  
He takes another good look around. ‘It’s just us. It’s the Military Police, protesters and us journalists. ‘They’re all gone now.’ After he heard some noise, he quickly looked behind him. ‘And now it looks like even the Military Police is leaving.’ He finally visibly closed his eyes for the first time in minutes. He was scared.  
‘I, I guess I’ll leave too.’ 

* * * 

‘Mr. President. Mr. President.’ Doug Martin, a young staff member at the Oval office came barging in. His face all red from excitement. ‘Mr. President, I’m sorry to bother you, but I have big news. Huge!’ He wasn’t kidding.  
‘Whoa, whoa. slow down, kid.’ President Obama never loses his cool. Never. Or perhaps — maybe, just maybe — when Jay Z and Nas release a collaborative album out of nowhere. Then shit is on! But for now, there was no reason to get excited.  
‘Mr. President,’ Martin hastily continued, completely ignoring the president’s remark. ‘There’s a civil war going on.’  
‘A civil war? Hell yeah. Call Joe Biden. Let’s go!’  
Any president — living, that is — will tell you a civil war is what makes your presidency epic and definitely one for the history books. ‘Where? I hope it’s some place nice.’  
He grabbed his iPad and opened the Maps app. ‘Please, let it not be a new Vietnam.’  
‘Actually, sir. It’s here. In the United States.’  
‘Holy shit.’  
‘Exactly, sir.’  
‘Those are the best kind. This is gonna be epic.’ And he was completely right. American Civil Wars are considered epic. In America. And, till this day, hugely popular. In America. Just watch a random episode of Pawn Stars. Changes are, you’ll see someone trying to sell an artifact from the Civil War. Mostly not the real deal. But when it comes to the Civil War, everyone’s trying to be a buff.  
And then you also have those Civil War reenactment weekends. How does that work? Cause you can’t just invite someone and tell them immediately ‘Sorry, dude. You’re a Confederate soldier this weekend’. No really, who wants to spend the better part of the weekend laying on wet grass with bbq sauce flavored blood stains all over their clothes and face? Possibly catching pneumonia. Basically, the Civil War is still taking lives. And yet, America’s still infatuated with the Civil War.  
That’s why it can’t wait to join them. Whenever, wherever.  
As other staff members were walking into the room, Obama felt inspired. ‘Think of all the collectibles with my name on it people will put on their mantles. You know, I once bought a hat,  
supposedly worn by George Meade at the Battle of Gettysburg, on eBay for 940$. A total steal! Great deal. Maybe even too great, but hey. Michelle swears it got lost when we moved into the White House. But I know she never liked the thing and probably tossed it. Anyways, what’s going on exactly?’  
‘It’s those Southern Baptists, sir.’ Senior staff member Bobby Robinson had the latest details. ‘They call themselves Bible State now and basically declare their region an independent country. As of now, we no longer have a Bible Belt.’  
‘Just thinking out loud, here. Bear with me.’ Obama was in thinking mode, walking in circles. Better yet, ovals. ‘We don’t want to acknowledge them, right?’ Without waiting for an answer, he continued. ‘But, technically speaking, can we even attack them, without acknowledging them?’  
‘We’re America, sir. We can attack whoever we want,’ a staff member replied.  
‘I know that. But,’ being the great talker he is, Obama paused for dramatic effect. ‘We don’t want to kill Americans. Cause they’re still Americans to me. To us. And I’m sure they don’t want to kill us, too. So, if we stay cool, then we gon’ be alright.’  
‘That’s the problem, sir. They are technically not Americans anymore.’  
‘I still don’t believe they’ll kill anyone. We gon’ be alright.’  
He started dancing and chanting We gon’ be alright, as if he’d started an impromptu mantra session. ‘Damn, that’s such a good song, right?’ His — mostly white — staff silently nodded in agreement, not knowing which song he was referring to. ‘So there’s not gonna be a war. We’re just gonna cut off all funding. Effective immediately. Let’s see how long they’ll manage without our money.’  
‘Call up everyone you need, get the word out and make it happen.’ His staff left the Oval Office with Kendrick Lamar blasting through the speakers. Some turned to watch Obama dancing and singing with the lyrics. All of a sudden, they felt reassured there would be no war. It was all going to be alright. Right? 

* * * 

‘Thanks for coming, Julian. You come highly recommended. Pastor Scott had nothing but nice words to say.’  
On the other side of Canton’s office desk sat Julian Powell. An enthusiastic member of pastor Scott’s congregation, who heavily impressed him with great ideas for BS. Plus, in the past he had also shown that he wasn’t afraid to do the dirty work. That’s all Scott wanted to say about that.  
‘Did you see the GOP debate yesterday? The Republicans are having a hard time figuring out which idiot should run for president. It’s like they’re not even want to run this year. It seems like we’re going from a black president to a female one. Even worse. Hillary.’ He uttered her name like it was a disease.  
‘What about Trump?’  
‘Now that’s a good question. We all know he’s the perfect candidate. Granted, he’s an idiot. But still, he’s perfect. A political blank canvas, completely indifferent to how his painting will look like, as long as it has his name on it in big, gold letters. But they’ll never let him run. They’ll choose Jeb. They want that trilogy. Cause every good story has to be a trilogy nowadays. Lord of the Rings, that 50 shades mess, you name it. But they forgot about the biggest story in human history, the Bible. That has two books instead of three. So they’re wrong. Again!’  
Canton continued. ‘But choosing Bush is probably best. For all sides. Because Trump can’t win without the support of the citizens of the Bible State. And it’s starting to look like Trump is — don’t ask me how or why — becoming hugely popular. Dare I say, especially ’round these parts. He’s making a lot of sense to a lot of people. The see him as the epitome of the American dream. He’s the real deal. That troubles me.’  
‘So, what if Trump wins?’  
Canton seemed offended by the question. ‘He’ll never win. He’s nothing without us. They can’t vote. He needs my people.’  
Powell insisted. ‘But… what if he does?’  
Canton sighed. ‘That would mean the end of BS. And we simply cannot let that happen, can we?’  
Powell agreed. But he needed some form of confirmation. A check, to see if he wasn’t dealing with an idiot as well. ‘Do you really believe that everything in the Bible is all true? Do you honestly believe all that?’  
‘Yes.’  
‘Really?’ he asked slightly bewildered. He knew there was going to be no stopping after this. Do I really want to help this guy towards victory in a new Civil War?  
‘Of course.’  
‘Even with all the scientific proof and, you know,’ he took a moment for this one. ‘Just common sense?’ You can still get on that plane and let this man be. There’ll be another change for you. Don’t you worry about that.  
In an uncharacteristically move, Canton seemed to — at least to some account — agree with him. ‘That may be. But scientists cannot proof everything they hypothesize. And so can’t we. But we believe them to be true. That’s even better if you ask me. So It may not be true, but for us, it is true. The Bible kind of offers alternative facts. And we choose to believe those, instead of the so-called scientists.’  
Powell was convinced. He told himself Canton wasn’t just a crazy guy with a Bible. He’s calculated. He knows what he’s doing. And, even better, knows how to address it and get everyone behind him. Plus, that whole alternative facts thing? That’s gold.  
‘But what about funding? How will we fund, well, basically everything, without the funding from Washington?’  
Canton’s eyes lighted up. ‘Funding? Who says we need Washington money? We got oil. We got money. We got crops and livestock. We’ll be fine. No need for you to worry. You’ll be in charge of security. If you ever need anything, guns, ammo, more ranch dressing for the nuggets., remember Matthew 7:7-8: Ask, and it will be given to you. Whatever it takes to keep the troops happy.’  
He was thrilled with his job. ‘Wow. Security. It would be an honor, sir.’  
‘Don’t mention it.’ Canton had no idea how big of a deal it was to him.  
‘Now, let’s come up with a plan to defend BS.’ 

* * * 

‘We’re in big trouble, sir.’ Powell was completely worked up. He didn’t know what to do.  
‘Settle down, son. Settle down.’ Canton stayed calm. Mostly because he didn’t give a shit. Well, at least not if it didn’t threaten his life — in a violent and murderous type way, not in a you really need to start eating healthier way — or attempt to undermine his image in a major way.  
‘There was an attempted assassination of Trump yesterday. And everyone’s saying we did it.’  
‘Whoa, slow down, son. Attempted what? What happened?’  
‘We’re being accused of the attempted assassination of Trump in Las Vegas. Some guy tried to grab a gun from a police officer to kill Trump. But it got stuck in the holster and they were able to overpower him pretty easily.’  
Powell had a hard time reading Canton’s reaction.  
‘They say he’d spent a whole year planning this. But he only visited a gun range two days before the big day. He never shot a gun in his life before!’ He was truly puzzled and started laughing. But Canton didn’t seem to find it funny. Far from it. He was getting aggravated.  
‘I mean, one year of planning, and you couldn’t make a quick run to a Walmart or, you know, any random gun store and buy a gun and some ammo? Your plan was to steel one from a security guard? Really? Great plan! But even with such a bad attempt, we’re still being linked to it. On the bright side, the media calls BS the biggest threat to America. Which only helps our cause, right?’  
Canton didn’t even seem impressed by that last part. He just stared at the TV screen.  
Canton’s acting way too cool about this, Powell concluded. And he didn’t look surprised when I told him about the attempted assassination. His next thought scared him. What if the media’s right and he actually is behind all of this? So, he’s really okay with murder? Murdering Trump, nonetheless. He felt miserable. He didn’t sign up for this.  
Canton stopped his train of thought. ‘Word has reached me about school lunches. People are complaining. A lot. What’s going on?’  
‘Oh, yeah. Big issue. Schools are running out of French fries and corn dogs. If we don’t act accordingly, all over BS, kids will have to start surviving on vegetables and salads. Cooked vegetables.’ He looked like he was about to vomit his breakfast onto Canton’s desk by the thought of just eating cooked vegetables. But, somehow, he managed to keep his breakfast — just bacon and eggs. Obviously no vegetables — in his stomach. ‘It shouldn’t come as a surprise that people are worried, sir.’  
‘That’s it?’  
‘Well,’ he was startled by Canton’s indifferent reaction. ‘School lunches were always a big deal to me, personally. I remember they once served kale on Wednesday Taco Day. We almost burned down the school that day. What I’m trying to say is, people care about school lunches. These kids need to eat, right? And eat good.’  
‘Sure. And I care about them, too. But is it really that bad that those diabetic enhancing foods won’t be delivered anymore? We’ll provide food. Don’t you worry. Like in the days of the Bible. Isn’t that what this is all about, ultimately? What we really wanted? Why we started of all this?’  
That thought never crossed his mind.  
‘Obama made a statement yesterday that our revolution might turn out great for future generations. If that’s not a co-sign, I don’t know what is.’  
‘Funny you brought up the notion of a co-sign. I’ve received some interesting e-mails. From all over the world, Christians are flying in to fight for BS, sir.’  
That’s great news, son. Great news indeed.’  
‘And foreign Bible Belts also pledged allegiance and started their own branches of BS. Oh, and Florida wants to join.’  
‘Florida?’  
‘Yup. The whole state of Florida. The Sunshine State.  
‘Flo…, nah. Hell no.’  
‘Also,’ Powell took a moment for this one. ‘David Duke called. He wants to help out too.’  
Canton’s face turned red. ‘Tell him we don’t want him and his goons here. But I hear they’re more than welcome in Leith.’  
Powell could see Canton was getting agitated and wanted to be left alone. ‘That was it for now. Don’t forget about your meeting with transportation and highway officials about rerouting those highways.’  
‘What? Really? I'm pretty busy. We're running a country here, remember?’  
‘Um, isn't rerouting highways part of running a country?’ He regretted his question immediately. It was too late.  
‘No! It's about having banquets with other leaders, going across our great land and deliver speeches and sermons and do important stuff. Don't bother me with this unimportant crap. Now please leave, I'm rewriting Sundays sermon as we speak. I'm going to Knoxville and need to address this nonsense. They're deliberately trying to make us look bad. Like we're the bad guys. But they keep forgetting it's idiots like the one in Vegas why we started our own country in the first place. That man needs Jesus. And the good people of Knoxville need me.’  
Passive aggressively, he turned on the television again. Powell knew that was his cue and stood up to leave. By then, he was used to Canton’s writing routine. Canton wrote all of his sermons with the TV on. The people talking on the background helped him focus. It didn’t take long before he stopped writing. The host mentioned his name, which always made him drop everything he was doing and focus on whoever was talking. Powell heard it too and entered the room to hear more.  
‘BS is like Kim Kardashian. We all dislike her and everything she stands for. Plus, we all claim we didn’t see the footage that made her famous. But we all know we did. Basically, we wish she’d disappear out of the public eye for good. But mysteriously, everything she says and does is big news. You'd think we'd get bored after yet another nude selfie. But there we are, looking at her ass again. And again. It’s like an itchy scab you just can’t stop scratching. It might feel perversely satisfying at that moment, but it has the potential to scar you for live if you don’t stop immediately.’  
Canton looked intrigued. He’d been compared to a lot of people these past weeks. But none of them came even close to resembling her features. Needless to say, few men — even women — do. ‘Say, who’s this Kim Carbashedin — or what’s her face — they’re talking about?’  
‘It’s Kardashian, sir. She’s actually the daughter of OJ’s lawyer back in the day. She’s a model, I guess,’ Powell answered like he wasn’t sure about his answer. It really sounded more like a question. Canton could tell he was thinking of a better answer.  
‘A celebrity, or socialite, that’s her profession.’ He felt better about that description. As he should, I guess. He most certainly wasn’t wrong.  
‘She also did some acting work. In fact, that’s how she became famous in the first place. That’s what the host meant, her claim to fame.’ Again, he wasn’t wrong about that description.  
Getting back to writing his sermon, Canton made a quick note about her. If he ever had some spare time left, he’d look into her. In his mind, BS was moving up. 

* * * 

‘Good morning, son.’ Apparently, Canton seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe because it was the first day of summer and it showed. It truly was a lovely day.  
‘Good morning to you too, sir.’ Powell had a great night’s sleep and was ready for another day of plotting strategies and talking business.  
‘Before we begin, let’s enjoy a nice, freshly made peach iced tea on the front porch. Mrs. Gates from down the road gave me some yesterday. It’s lovely, just like the weather.’  
Powell was very surprised by Canton’s uncharacteristically good mood. He had never seen him like this. Dozens of questions popped up in his head. What’s going on? Am I in trouble? Will my services no longer be required?  
‘Can you smell the sun, too? Aaaah, God is great!’  
Or maybe that freshly made peach iced tea wasn’t the only thing he got from Mrs. Gates. Did he? Could it be? Did he get laid last night? Nice, good for him!  
‘Yeah, the sun is great. And so is God, of course,’ Powell answered.  
‘Did you catch the game last night?’ Canton asked, having no idea if there actually was a game last night. He was just making conversation. There probably was one. There’s always a game on somewhere. But he sure as hell didn’t watch it. He was occupied with Mrs. Gates and her delicious peaches, he giggled to himself. Or rather her melons, to be more accurate, in terms of size.  
‘Great game. Excellent game,’ Powell replied, having no idea what game was on last night. And knowing damn well Canton didn’t watch it. He never watches sports, he’s just making conversation. He must be trying to make me more comfortable. Become friends even? That must mean we’re on a good path together.  
Now he really couldn’t wait to get started. He eagerly took the last sip of his glass of iced tea. Damn, this is terrific iced tea!  
‘Please thank Mrs. Gates for the wonderful iced tea for me. It really is lovely.’  
‘Will sure do, son.’ Canton couldn’t stop smiling. ‘Will sure do.’  
He grabbed Powell’s glass and stood up. ‘You want some more?’ 

* * * 

‘No one left in the race, just Trump. All hands go up in Trump’s camp. And also in The Democratic party, for that matter. The rest of us just uses their hands for a good, old fashioned face palm.’ As he heard the studio crowd laugh, Canton furiously turned off his television.  
‘This is bad, son. Real bad.’  
‘What is, sir?’  
‘Well, Trump being the GOP candidate, of course.’  
‘It is?’ Powell asked, surprised by the frustration on Canton’s face. ‘I mean, when Hillary beats him — and she will — there really is no reason why anyone from BS wants to go back to being United States again.’  
‘I’m not so sure about that one. Hillary is also such a bad candidate. A woman, for God’s sake. He has a better shot than everyone thinks, believe me.’ He leaned towards Powell to emphasize his point. ‘And when he wins? That’s just bad for me. I mean, for us. For the great Bible State. Then people may actually want to return to being a complete United States of America again.’  
Powell seemed not impressed. ‘You really think so? The guy has no policies, no ideas on how to improve the United States. And no, I know what you’re gonna say, building a wall between Mexico and America is not a solution. He just yells whatever pops up in his mind, makes fun of his opponents and media, let the crowd scream ‘Lock her up’ and bully people that dare to stand up. He’s a horrible candidate.’  
‘Sure, that’s all true. But who needs actual policies and ideas to become president? You need votes. He’s not a politician. And that’s his unique selling point. People are sick and tired of politics. They're ready to vote on whoever is not a politician. That’s why the people love me, too.’  
He was right about almost everything. Which sums everything up wrong about the political climate in the United States. Trump really had no ideas or policies. But his followers didn’t mind. They didn’t demand ideas. all he had to do was point his finger at his opponents and whatever else was wrong about America and he knew they would eat it up. Even when a reporter tried to get him to answer simple question on his policies, he made sure it was the last time that reporter tried.  
A move directly out of Caite Upton's playbook. Remember her? That contestant on the 2007 Miss Teen USA Pageant. The one who was asked why a fifth of Americans can’t locate the U.S. on a world map. She started her answer with the explanation that some people don’t have a map (which sounds horribly wrong, but think about it. If you don’t have a map, how are you’re supposed to point at one?). Then she moved on to a completely nonsensical segment where she sort of makes the point that the education in South Africa, the Iraq and the Asian countries is somehow even worse, and therefore, they need the help of the United States. A plea so comically bad, it not only totally undermined her entire point, it also showed how bad the education in the U.S. really is.  
After she remarkably finished fourth, she became a model. Guess at which modeling agency? But of course, Trump Model Management. I bet you can’t guess her current job. A real estate agent. I’m gonna go ahead a put that down as 1 for 2. No one can prove she’s a Trump adviser or still on his pay roll. But, to this day, her ‘answer’ inspired numerous interviews, tweets and slurs at rally's.  
Some journalists have tried. ‘How do you propose to repeal and replace Obamacare?’  
‘We have great ideas. Really great. The best ideas. You’ll love ’em. But you know what I don’t love? Crooked Hillary and her emails. What a shame. So sad. She should be in prison. Am I right, folks?’  
‘He keeps saying the election is being rigged.’  
‘Well, that’s because it is being rigged, son,’ Canton replied with confidence.  
‘Clinton?’ Powell asked amazed.  
‘No.’  
‘The media?’  
‘Nope,’ he answered with a slight smirk on his face.  
‘But, I don… I mean, who?’  
‘It’s us! We are rigging this election. And this is just the beginning.’  
Powell just stared at him. He had never seen such an evil smile. Including that one time he saw the movie It when he was nine and cried himself to sleep for four months straight. He didn’t know if he should be amazed or feel betrayed. Or both. His gut was definitely telling him he should feel sick. His stomach turned.  
‘Great, huh son?’ Canton asked him, still with a huge smile on his face.  
At that point, he knew that it was up to him. Ever since Canton’s reaction to the news of the attempted assassination, Powell felt something was wrong. And now, he knew for sure. He was going to stop him from rigging the election. He was going to save America. He’d make sure Trump would become the next president of the United States. All states. Yes, even Delaware. And he knew exactly how to do it. But first, he needed to visit a bathroom before his breakfast ended up on Canton’s office floor.  
Sitting on the toilet, still sick and out of breath, Powell tried to come to terms with what he had just heard. And he made a decision. The work he was doing was BS. Trump’s team needed to be informed. This whole thing had to be stopped. By him. By them. By Trump. It didn’t take him long to figure out how to get in contact with Trump’s team. He reached for his phone and opened Twitter. He looked for Donald Trump’s Twitter account and went straight to the DM’s.  
As of that moment, he would do whatever he could to see Trump becoming the next president of the USA. Ever the opportunist, he pictured himself in a nice corner office at the White House, living the good life. All he had to do, was get Trump in the White House. Just the thought of that happening made him feel sick to the stomach again. He never imagined he — or anyone else, for that matter — would ever think that would be a good idea. He decided he’d just had to wait for any, if any, consequences. But really, how bad could it be?  
People are worried about Trump starting World War III at some point. Yes, I know, he’s stupid. But not that stupid, right? (Someone, anyone, please tell me I’m right!) But those people shouldn’t worry. Also because no other world leader will want to go to war with America. A soothing idea, isn’t it?  
There are only two world leaders crazy enough to attack America. The craziest of all world leaders is most likely to start a nuclear war with the U.S., of course I’m talking about North Korea’s supreme leader Kim Jong-un. Who, ironically enough (probably through his surreal friendship with former Celebrity Apprentice contestant Dennis Rodman), endorsed Donald Trump’s presidency in June of 2016. A North Korea state media website named Trump a ‘wise and far-sighted politician’ — and also told Americans not to vote for ‘dull Hillary’. Let that sink in for a second. In his defense, Trump had no trouble getting on Kim Jong-un’s bad side. He rarely has.  
It shouldn’t come as a surprise, the other crazy world leader is Russian president Vladimir Putin. Who is, funny enough, the only world leader Trump likes (or knows by name). He admires Putin. And why wouldn’t he? Putin’s a bad motherfucker. And Putin? Well, he might seem to like Trump. But he loathes Trump. Like he loathes basically every other living thing on earth. And this side of the milky way. But he at least has some respect for Trump. Which is pretty big in its own right.  
He’s felt that way since Trump’s cameo in Home Alone 2. By far his favorite movie of the Home Alone franchise. But seriously, does anyone even count Home Alone 3 through 5 — yes, they actually made five — as real Home Alone films?  
Now we’re at it, Putin’s favorite movie franchise, you wonder? Well, interestingly enough, that’s the Police Academy franchise. And his favorite film from that franchise? Police Academy: Mission to Moscow, you’d think? Well, you’d be wrong. Putin actually hates that film. Not only  
because of the overpowering political message (We, Americans, are better than you silly commies. The Cold War had just ended and this was America’s way of giving Russia the finger). No, Putin hates it for a very unlikely reason. He hates it, because he was in it.  
Yes, that’s right. Putin makes an uncredited — and unwanted — cameo. Did you ever wonder why a scene at a Moscow Blue Oyster bar, one of the greatest running gags of the franchise, is missing in the Moscow film? That’s because Putin can be seen in that exact scene, but that scene never made the final version. He’s in the background, wrestling a bear. And I’m not talking about an animal. An actual gay bear. A huge specimen, handle bar moustache, leather cap and attire. The works.  
In fact, his whole tough guy image; riding a horse bare-chested, wrestling a real bear (to redirect rumors), it all stems from that footage. He’s been compensating for that little slip — literally — for the rest of his career. Ever since he rose to power.  
Back then an up-and-coming politician, he threatened and blackmailed the producers to cut the scene from the final version of the film. With success. No one knows what kind of leverage he had, but he was successful. And so this stayed his MO for the rest of his career. To this very day.  
Word on the street is, there are bootleg VHS tapes of the film being sold in swap meets in Asia containing that scene. Some say, it’s even worth a trip to the dark side of the internet.  
But no, surprisingly, his favorite film from the franchise is Police Academy 3: Back in Training. It's the one where Bobcat Goldwaith’s character, Zed McGlunk (yes, the writers managed to come up with an even weirder name for his movie character), turns good and joins the police squad. Putin called it an unexpected turn of character. A plot twist he’s very much interested in. Although that’s a relatively new insight. He disliked the film at first, because he obviously liked the bad boy character of Zed McGlunk. Until someday, when he was casually browsing the internet and he dramatically changed his opinion. That day, he found out Goldwaith was engaged to no other than Nikki Cox. It blew his mind. And all was forgiven. 

* * * 

Powell wanted to back out of meeting Trump and his team dozens of time. But he also knew there was no going back. And why not meet at the Republican National Convention in Cleveland, Ohio? After communicating through DM’s, finally shaking hands with Trump & Co would be great. Plus, he would get a chance to discuss his job in the White House in person. So, he told Canton he had to go back home for a couple of days to take care of his mom, after her hip replacement surgery, and left for Cleveland.  
Meeting Trump didn’t go as he had hoped. Trump was easily distracted and hardly seemed to know why the meeting was planned. And no one had a clue to what he, or anyone else for that matter, would be doing in the White House.  
The conversation took a wrong turn after Powell, against better judgment, tried to find out what he’d be doing in the White House if Trump would win. And, God forbid, what would he be doing if Trump would lose. At least he finally had Trump’s full attention. He quickly tried to correct himself, but it was too late. Now he was in a discussion with an angry looking Trump, talking about what would happen if Trump would lose.  
‘But, let’s say, it’s not gonna happen, no way, it’ll never happen, just hypothetically, will not happen, but, you know, what if, never will it happen, but let’s just say, I lose. Again, won’t happen, but what if it does? What do you propose to do?’  
‘I say a coup.’  
‘A coup’, Trump repeated. Clearly not aware of the word.  
‘Yeah, a coup’, Powell answered. ‘A revolution’.  
‘Yes, a revolution. I like that word!’  
‘Just imagine. A coup in the United States. Just like Turkey, last Friday. But better, obviously.’ He laughed just thinking about the failed attempt at a coup. One which was allegedly set up by President Erdogan. What a great role model that man is for Trump. He’s been saying that for years. No, scratch that. Trump hasn’t been a politician that long — if you can even call him that, he chuckled silently. No matter for how long, that man’s a role model. Period.  
‘That’s funny,’ Trump said, also smiling from ear to ear. ‘I had turkey too on Friday. But mine was actually pretty damn good. It’s all in the filling, I guess. And the filling at Mar-a-Lago is excellent. So gorgeous. Great turkey.’  
He really has no clue at all, Powell was baffled. Let’s see if I can trigger something, he thought. ‘I don’t think President Erdogan liked it, though…’  
‘Who doesn’t like turkey? ’Trump seemed upset. ‘It’s turkey. It’s gorgeous. When I’m president, he should come visit Mar-a-Lago. I’ll serve him the best turkey he’ll ever have. Of course, Mar-a-Lago has the best stuffing in the world. The world, okay? I like it. Melania likes it. Ivanka likes it. Chris Christie likes it, obviously.’  
Not a damn clue. He regretted even bringing up the subject.  
But it was too late, Trump was on a roll now. ‘Turkey’s American. We all love it. Well, obviously not everybody. Crooked Hillary hates it. Her media buddies hate it. Most democrats hate it. I’ve heard about that. They don’t seem to enjoy our pretty little gobble heads. Bill Clinton hates them too. And Obama. I’ve seen the footage. Well, you know what? I’m not gonna pardon a turkey. No. Not gonna do it. Will not pardon a turkey. I love those bad boys. You won’t see me pardon a turkey. Will never happen.’  
Powell was tired. Real tired. And ready to go back home. ‘So I’m gonna go back to Mississippi and start planning. We’ll get you those votes. Don’t you worry.’  
‘Oh, I don’t worry, John. Why would I worry?’ Trump looked surprised.  
John? Nah, screw it. Not this again. ‘Like I said, you don’t have to worry,’ he replied, not knowing how to respond to that. Or how Trump would respond to that.  
‘Then why say it? Because now you got me worried. And I don’t like it when I’m worried.’  
‘It’ll be fine. I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to catch a flight. Have fun at the convention.’  
Back home, Canton was still busy writing his sermon for Sunday’s service. While he was thinking of another Trump is the devil metaphor, a late night show tried to do the same thing.  
‘If you’re watching this and you’re still undecided, let’s see if we can help you out. I’m not completely sure we can, though. Because, let’s be honest here: if you’re still undecided at this point, after all the drama and controversy of Trump’s campaign, plus, you know, factoring his gross incompetence, you’re still undecided? I’m not sure anything can help you decide. But don’t say we didn’t try. So let’s do a little experiment.’  
‘What if your local Taco Bell asks you to pick their newest employee. Which one would you pick? The bitchy one, the one who doesn’t greet you with a warm smile when you enter the ‘restaurant’? You know the type, the boojee one, with the arrogant demeanor behind the grill. But also, the one who spent decades in commercial kitchens. Who knows how to prepare your meal. You may not enjoy all of it, but she got you that meal. A meal that perhaps will give you two horrible days filled with diarrhea, stomach ulcer and acid reflux. But still, she got you that meal.’  
‘Or do you pick the one with the weird tan and ever weirder hair piece who screams at every customer? The one who looks at every cute customer in a disturbing way, before he either says or does something inappropriate. Probably both. The highly underqualified one who's had a lot of jobs, a lot of failed jobs. The one with absolutely no experience in any kitchen, whatsoever. All we know, is he loves himself some tacos. His love for tacos is well documented. But he’s the one who serves you a salmonella chipotle wrap, which quite possibly ends up killing you.’  
‘To stay in cuisine terms: it’s quite a pickle, isn’t it?’  
‘If there ever was a moment to say ‘I prefer two days of diarrhea’, now would be that moment.’ 

* * * 

Against all odds, closer and closer to the most important day — yes, even more important than the days his kids (including Tiffany) were born, and two out of three wedding days — of his live, Trump seemed to be in a winning mood. He could actually win, who’d have thought? Clinton was having a very hard time convincing people she cares about other people’s lives. Not that Trump does. But he’s Twitter-savvy.  
And thanks to a string of hilarious tweets about Crooked Hillary, he suddenly had the upper hand. It got more retweets then that dumb selfie from Ellen with a bunch of actors. It was that good. That. Good.  
He tweeted that if he were to be president, there definitely would be no blood stains on the nice rug (such a nice rug) in the Oval Office. Totally disregarding the fact Clinton was far past her menstruating days. But that would mean he’d have a basic understanding of the female body. He only knows where to grab ’em. No, there would only be blood on the floor if he punched some terrorists in the face like Gerard Butler in Olympus has fallen (Finally, a movie idea someone should definitely force Michael Bay into making, by the way).  
In a series of follow-up tweet, he asked what’s so special about Clinton becoming the first woman in the Oval Office. A ludicrous thought. That’s why he brought up Monica Lewinsky. And the cleaning ladies. Can’t forget about those inspiring, hardworking girls. Because, how else would the carpet stay clean? A carpet doesn’t clean itself, okay.  
Sure, he caught flack for it. Big time. Not that it mattered, anyway. Just another day, another scandal in his scandal-ridden presidential campaign. And he rebutted the critics in the most Trump-like way. By claiming he had thousands of women cleaning his hotels and casinos and he wouldn't want it any other way. 'We are better in sports. They are better in cleaning', followed by #facts. He even, in a smart and devious way, quoted one of Canton’s sound bites from the first viral sermon (attacking Hillary Clinton), saying: ‘Sorry ladies, you might run a tidy home or work place, but that doesn’t mean you're fit to be a president.’ Can't argue with that logic. Can't argue with Trump in general. Don't argue with Trump.  
Walking into his office, Powell could see Canton was in one of his characteristically bad moods. They were getting worse and more frequent. He hadn’t seen the latest press conference by Trump. What’s the matter now, he asked to himself. Dare I ask?  
‘Good morning, sir. What’s wrong?’ he dared.  
‘People have been receiving voting requests. People are registering. That means we’re still considered states of the United States. And, even worse, my people still feel American! When my people vote, Trump still gets a fighting chance. And when he wins? Then they’re dead. To me.’  
Canton looked miserable. He saw his whole plan crumbling before his eyes. Powell almost felt sorry for him. Almost.  
He doesn’t know what I know, Powell said to himself. Everyone on Trump’s team agreed it was too dangerous to make people vote at public places. So he came up with some rumored polling stations across BS — completely abandoned, of course — and told some surveillance teams to check them out. Once they found no one was there, they decided there was no danger of illegal voting.  
He had a hard time at a surveillance meeting with a bunch of officers in the BS surveillance organization. They heard about e-mails being sent. He played it off as a joke. Via Hillary’s server, right? But they were right. Just like astronauts, citizens of BS would be able to vote via e-mail.  
In the weeks to come, rumors about voting via e-mails stayed floating around. At another meeting with a surveillance team, Powell bluffed his way out of a possible disaster.  
‘What do you suggest then? Shut off internet in BS completely? So you and I, we all, have no internet the entire day? Think about it. Schools, businesses, everybody. No Facebook, no Twitter, no Pornhub. Nothing. You really wanna do that?’  
For a few seconds he was sweating bullets. But his plan worked. Everyone agreed. Including Canton. ‘You’re right. That’s not an option. I want maximum surveillance. Everyone’s getting searched. I do not want to see a single voting slip.’  
After he made the call to Trump, Trump again made sure he’d get a great job in the White House. Somehow, somewhere. They’d find him some place nice. 

* * * 

So, there you have it. Thank God for Trump. President Donald J. Trump (I puked a little while typing). He who bringeth peace to America. Until he starts WWIII after they give him clearance to actually use the launch codes for the nuclear weapons. But even then he’s okay. Because, like street philosopher Nas once rapped: ‘War is necessary, war brings peace’. So basically, Trump will bring peace upon the world twice. What an heroic man. What a remarkable man. A special man. Mostly special.  
Donald Trump rescued the United States. Who’d have known? It goes to show, you really can’t out-trump The Trump. Lesson learned. The hard way. Just like Powell. Who, as promised, received a job at the White House. Doing what? No one knows what he’s supposed to do. Including him. But hey, that goes for most people in the White House nowadays.  
Oh, well. Back to more important things. Blame the world’s short concentration span for that. Justin Bieber probably did something stupid again. And I believe Kim Kardashian just uploaded another selfie on Instagram. Let’s all just focus on that, shall we?  
And Canton, you wonder? He found himself in a maximum security prison, regularly jerking off to a nice collage of Kim Kardashian nude selfies. And just when he was about to climax, he closed his eyes to forget about the fact he was in prison and would be for the rest of his live. Instead of being the president of BS. He started crying when the lukewarm cum hit his belly. He felt no need to wipe the cum of his clothes and body. Why should he? Instead, he just fell asleep with a sad, sticky mess. In his dream, he was standing proudly behind the pulpit. His pulpit. He owned it. And he was giving a riveting speech. The best sermon of his live.  
‘You are living in the hell you have created for yourself. Don’t you want to live in total happiness? For the rest of your live? Then cum, cum, cum and join us now!’  
The congregation goes wild. They cheer and scream.  
They love me. They really love me. They’ll do anything for me. Anything! I am their God. Their savior. This is the best feeling in the world.  
But then the crowd gets even more ecstatic. Is he still talking? He didn’t even know he was that good. I know for sure, Canton tells himself, I wasn’t talking. What’s going on? He feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s a small hand. He knows exactly whose hand it is. And he still turns to look. Oh, dear Lord. It’s Trump. It’s him. He is their God and Savior. What does that make me?  
He was awakened by his own screaming. It took him two more sessions of Kim Kardashian selfies to get him to sleep through the night.  
When the guard tried to wake him for breakfast, Canton seemed to be sleeping peacefully. With a weird smirk on his face and his hand down his pants. But, just like his crispy cum stained shirt, his body felt cold and hard. According to the coroner, he died of a heart attack.  
‘Look at him. Look at how happy he looks. For the first time in months. This really was the best way to go.’  
And with that smirk, they buried him. In his presidential outfit. He was finally back with Sarah. Well, so it may seem. At least their caskets are together. But Sarah’s in heaven. He’s in hell. Of course. Where else would he be? And he’s reliving the best sermon of his live. Over and over again. And again. And nothing can save him from his self-created destiny.  
‘You are living in the hell you have created for yourself. Don’t you want to live in total happiness? For the rest of your live?’  
The congregation goes wild. They cheer and scream.  
At one point, they get even more ecstatic. He feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s a small hand. He knows exactly whose hand it is. And yet, he keeps turning. Every time. Somehow, he has to turn. And he sees the man that will haunt him forever. And he knows he was right all his live. God is cruel. And Satan is bad. Very bad. First, he ended up in the White House. And now he’s in hell with him.  
Oh, dear Lord. It’s Trump! This is BS!


End file.
